To Seek Out New Forms Of Entertainment
by Jamie August
Summary: The crew of the Enterprise is really, really bored. So was I. People do strange things when they're bored.


_DISCLAIMER: Star Trek: TNG isn't mine. All hail Paramount the mighty. All hail the wonderful actors on the series. No disrespect or infringement intended. I'm boldly going where no fanfic writer has ever . . . wait, that's a lie. Nevermind!_

_ARCHIVING: Ask me. I'll say yes._

_COMMENTS: Pretty please?_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm insane. And Reg Barclay is in this story because I want him there and I'm the author, so I can do what I want. So there. And I have it on good authority that Geordi La Forge does in fact wear white boxers with red hearts on them. Oh, god, I hope LeVar Burton doesn't sue me for that...I'm talking about GEORDI, okay? I need to go take a nap now._

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## To Seek Out New Forms of Entertainment

by Jamie August   
  
  
  


Captain Jean-Luc Picard was bored. _Extremely_ bored. For the last couple of days, nothing had been happening on the _Enterprise_. No first contact situations, no space-time anomalies, not even a lousy ship anywhere in sight.   
  


He sighed and leaned back in the captain's chair, tugging on his uniform shirt. _'To seek out new life and new civilizations', my ass, _he thought sourly. "Is there anything out there of interest?" he asked the entire bridge crew in general.   
  


"Define 'of interest', sir." Riker muttered, glaring at the empty viewscreen.   
  


"Any planets? Or anomalies? Is there anything out there other than space dust?"   
  


"Negative, Captain." Data didn't bother turning around to deliver this lack of news.   
  


Picard idly wondered if the android was also feeling the boredom that seemed to permeate the ship. "Are there any asteroids we can blow up? Anything to shoot at?"   
  


"No, sir." Riker wasn't the least bit surprised by this line of questioning. He knew that the captain's destructive tendencies had a way of appearing under such tedious circumstances.   
  


"Damn." Picard sniffed and ran a hand over his head. "Any sign of Q?"   
  


"Sir?" This time Data swung around in his seat to stare in surprise at the captain.   
  


"You heard me," Picard snapped.   
  
  
  


"No, sir. No sign of Q."   
  


The captain stood. "I'll be in my ready-room. Number One, you have the bridge." _And oh, how the thrills will never end,_ he added silently.   
  


* * *   
  


In sickbay, Dr. Beverly Crusher looked at all the empty bio-beds and shook her head. Lately everyone had been disgustingly healthy. She was tempted to concoct some interesting new virus and release it through the life-support system, just so she'd have something to do. Of course, she would never do such a thing . . . She glanced speculatively at a hypospray and quickly dismissed the idea. No, no, too unprofessional. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if the Hippocratic oath had taken into account bouts of total boredom.   
  


"First do no harm, indeed," she grumbled, and shoved her chair away from the desk. Noticing for the first time exactly how much the chair swivelled, Beverly spun it around experimentally. Brightening slightly, she checked to make sure no one was nearby, then began spinning around in the chair like a child. Kicking her foot out at the floor, she decided to see precisely how fast the chair could spin. "Whee!"   
  


"Beverly?"   
  


The doctor brought her chair to an abrupt stop and tried to focus on the person standing in the doorway. "Deanna! I was just, um . . . " she trailed off and gestured weakly toward the desk.   
  


"Reviewing the annual crew physicals?" Deanna supplied, hiding a smile.   
  


"Right! That's it." Beverly grinned sheepishly. "Okay, maybe that's not _exactly_ what I was doing. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had something to do around here? What I wouldn't give for some weird alien virus to infect the ship." She blushed. "You must think I've lost my mind."   
  


The counselor raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you have, you're certainly talking to the right person!"   
  


* * *   
  


CAPTAIN'S PERSONAL LOG: Stardate . . . oh, who cares what the date is? All the days are the same lately. I find myself wishing for some form of excitement to put an end to this unrelenting monotony. Frighteningly enough, I believe I would even settle for a visit from Q. . .but don't tell him I said so. Oh, how low I have sunk! Yesterday I programmed all the replicaters to only dispense Earl Grey tea, then I blamed it on one of the children onboard. I don't think anyone was fooled. . . .   
  


chime   
  


"Computer, end log!" Picard quickly faced the door of his ready-room. "Come."   
  


Dr. Crusher and Counselor Troi walked into the room giggling. "Jean-Luc!" Beverly exclaimed, and doubled over in laughter.   
  


"Dr. Crusher?" Picard frowned at the two women. "Counselor Troi? What is the meaning of this?"   
  


"Allow me to explain, Captain." Deanna attempted a guise of seriousness and almost succeeded. "We have been talking about ways to liven things up around here, and I think the doctor is on to something."   
  


"And what might that be, Counselor?" Picard asked wearily.   
  


"Twister, Jean-Luc! Twister!" Beverly clapped her hands.   
  


Picard squinted at her. "Doctor! Are you drunk?"   
  


"No! Well, maybe a little."   
  


"And you, Counselor?"   
  


"Well. . . ."   
  


The captain rubbed his temples and sighed. "Twister?"   
  


Beverly nodded enthusiastically. "It's an old Earth party game. Uh, there's a big mat with red, yellow, green, and blue circles- -"   
  


"Yes, Beverly, I believe I've heard of it. Do you propose to have the entire crew play this game?"   
  


"Um. . . ."   
  


"I assure you, I am not that bored yet. You are dismissed. _Both_ of you."   
  


As the two women exited the room, Beverly leaned into Deanna and muttered, "He's just no fun anymore."   
  


"Was he ever?"   
  


* * *   
  


"Data! What is that?" Riker jumped out of the captain's chair.   
  


"What is what, Commander?"   
  


"That!" He pointed to the lower right-hand corner of the viewscreen.   
  


"This, sir?"   
  


"Yes, yes. What is that?"   
  


Data raised his eyebrows. "That, sir, is a smudge on the viewscreen. Would you like me to clean it?"   
  


"No. Nevermind. Carry on." Riker sighed and lowered himself back into the chair in resignation.   
  


* * *   
  


In Engineering, Geordi La Forge lay his head down on a console in defeat. "Are you _sure_ the warp core is functioning normally?" he asked a young ensign.   
  


"Uh, yes sir. Sorry," the confused officer replied.   
  


Geordi lifted his head sadly and gazed around Engineering. He jerked upright in astonishment when his eyes landed on Reg Barclay. "Barclay! What are you doing here? I thought you were on the Jupiter station working with Dr. Zimmerman."   
  


Reg knitted his brow. "Uh, I was. I'm not quite sure how I got here."   
  


"I know why he's here."   
  


The two men glanced around sharply, searching for the source of the voice. Finally Geordi gave up searching and asked, "Who said that?"   
  


"I did. Me, your author. You do realize that this is _my_ story, right?"   
  


"What?"   
  


Geordi put up one hand to silence Reg. "Okay, so why is he here?"   
  


"Simple. I like Barclay. I wanted him in the story, but I didn't feel like crossing _The Next Generation_ with _Voyager_, so I just picked Reg up and plopped him down back on the _Enterprise_. Although I'd still like to know how he could've been in 'First Contact' after he was off the _Enterprise_ and doing guest shots on _Voyager_."   
  


Barclay sidled up to Geordi and whispered, "What is she talking about?"   
  


"I have no idea," Geordi replied, shaking his head. "The author, huh? So that means you're dictating our every move?"   
  


"Yep."   
  


"And you can make us do whatever you want?"   
  


"Uh-huh."   
  


Nervousness beginning to replace confusion, Barclay backed into a corner of the room.   
  


"Well," Geordi started, "okay. Prove it."   
  


"You want me to prove that I'm writing this story?"   
  


"That's right."   
  


"Okaaaaaaaaaay."   
  


Suddenly the Starfleet uniform Geordi was wearing disappeared, and the engineer was left standing in nothing but a pair of white boxers covered with big red hearts. Seeing this, Barclay shrieked and tried to hide behind a chair.   
  


"Oh, don't worry Reg, honey! I would never do anything mean to you. So, La Forge, do you believe me now?"   
  


"How do I know you're not Q, playing some new prank?"   
  


"Well, either way, isn't this more fun than what you _were_ doing? Now, why don't you two hop on over to Sickbay? I think Beverly and Deanna are playing Twister. I'm sure they'd let you guys play, too."   
  


"Do we have a choice?" Barclay asked worriedly, emerging from his hiding spot.   
  


"I don't think so. Uh, could I have my uniform back now?" Geordi fervently hoped he wasn't meant to play Twister in only his boxer shorts.   
  


"Oh, right!" The uniform instantly appeared on his body again. "Ha, ha. Can't forget to give your clothes back, can I? I _am_ trying to keep this story down to a PG rating, after all."   
  


"Do you know what the heck she's talking about?"   
  


Geordi sighed. "I don't think it matters, Reg."   
  


* * *   
  


"What the devil is going on here?!" Picard stood in the doorway to Sickbay, which had obviously become quite a 'hot spot' over the last hour. He watched in amazement as most of his senior bridge officers gallivanted around the room, engaged in one form of entertainment or another. Spotting his First Officer amid the melee, he shouted to be heard over the din.   
  


"Commander Riker! Just what the bloody hell is this?"   
  


Making his way through the crowd, Riker grinned at the captain. "Well, uh, it's a party, sir. Come on, surely you remember parties!"   
  
  
  


Picard arched his brow. "And why, pray tell, is there one going on in Sickbay?" He glanced down at the glass in Riker's hand and frowned. "What is that you're drinking, Number One?"   
  


For some reason, the question struck Riker as extremely funny. Waving his hand, he gasped, "No, no, not number One!" Managing to get himself somewhat under control, he met the captain's bemused gaze. "Well, Captain, it's no Earl Grey, but this Jack Daniels fellow makes a damn fine drink, too."   
  


Giving up all hope of finding a sober crew-member, Picard resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall. "Number - - Will, who is flying the ship? I put _you_ in charge, remember?"   
  


"Oh, I left a couple of ensigns in charge. It's okay, sir, there's nothing out there anyway."   
  


Picard took a deep breath, willing himself to remain in control. "Why did you leave the bridge, Number- - Commander Riker?"   
  


Riker scratched his head in confusion. "Uh, to tell you the truth, sir, I don't remember. I think someone told me that Deanna was down here playing Twister." He grinned wolfishly. "I couldn't very well miss _that_, now could I?"   
  


"Twister? Dammit, I told them- -" Picard did a double-take as he noticed who the counselor was playing Twister with. "What is Reginald Barclay doing here? I thought he was- -"   
  


"Working on the Pathfinder Project at the Jupiter station?" Riker shrugged. "I don't think he even knows how he got here." He frowned. "I think Geordi mentioned something about an entity that stole his clothes, but I'm not sure."   
  


"Q?"   
  


"No, dammit! Not Q! For the last time, I am the author of this story! Good lord, Jean-Luc, you're so obsessed with Q. He's not the only omnipotent being in your little universe, you know."   
  


Riker looked up and waved drunkenly. "Hi, Author!"   
  


"Hi, Will. Why don't you go play with Deanna and let me talk to Jean-Luc for a minute, okay?"   
  


Riker's eyes lit up. "Play with Deanna, okay! What a good idea . . ." He stumbled toward the Twister game.   
  
  
  


"No, wait a minute! I didn't mean it _that_ way! William Thomas Riker, I swear to God, if you make me lose my PG rating, I'm going to write you out the nearest airlock!"   
  


"Um, excuse me?" Not knowing quite where to look, Picard addressed his question to the ceiling. "What are you doing on my ship?"   
  


"You were bored out of your cute little bald skull, right? Well, now you have something to do. I promise there will be nothing on the bridge that requires the attention of your senior officers. So, grab a bottle and spin the arrow for Twister. Or, better yet, go play with Data. I don't think he's quite got the hang of this Karoake thing. Why don't you help him?"   
  


Without any warning, Picard found himself standing next to Data and an ancient-looking machine. "Data! What is this contraption?"   
  


Data cocked his head and lay the microphone down. "I believe it is a Karoake machine, Captain. They were popular in the late twentieth century- -"   
  


"Yes, yes," Picard interrupted impatiently. "But what is it doing here?"   
  


"I do not know, sir. I believe we are to use it as a form of entertainment."   
  


"Entertainment, hmm?" Picard looked at the accompanying list of songs. "'Friends in Low Places'; 'I Like My Women Just a Little on the Trashy Side'- - well, I do believe we've found Commander Riker's song . . . 'Achy-Breaky Heart'? What _is_ this garbage?"   
  


"Captain, the machine would seem to only be equipped with twentieth century 'country' music," the ever-helpful Data supplied.   
  


Picard shuddered. "I am _not_ singing any of these songs. Do you hear me, Author?"   
  


"Heh-heh-heh. Yes, you _will_!"   
  


"No! I refuse! Being assimilated by the Borg was better than this! Being interrogated by the Cardassians was more fun! I will not sing any of these songs!" Picard shouted desperately.   
  


"Oh, but you'll sing 'A British Tar' while flying a speeding shuttlecraft."   
  


"I - - How do you know about that?"   
  
  
  


"Give me a break. I recorded 'Insurrection' off of Showtime last year."   
  


"What?" Bewildered, Picard looked to Data, who shrugged. "Listen, whoever you are, I simply will not sing any of these songs. Period." He crossed his arms over his chest in a 'so there' gesture.   
  


"Ha. That's what _you_ think, Jean-Luc! Strike up the band!"   
  


Out of nowhere, a huge cowboy hat appeared on Picard's head. The opening notes of 'Achy-Breaky Heart' spilled from the Karoake machine, and the captain was unable to stop himself from singing along.   
  


As he reached the start of the second endless chorus, Picard vowed to never again complain of boredom.   
  


* * *   
  


"I don't get it," Barclay whispered to Geordi La Forge. "The Author said she brought me here because she wanted me in the story, but I only have a tiny role in it. Why would she do that?"   
  


"Shh, Reg," Geordi whispered back. "I want to hear the Captain's encore. I had no idea he'd sound so good singing 'Stand By Your Man'!"   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*** 

_THE END_

(c)2000 Jamie August 

_***If you want to see Picard (ok, ok, I mean Patrick Stewart) in a cowboy hat, go rent a neat little movie called "Dad Savage".(This character could not be any farther from Picard!) I wholeheartedly recommend it. Not for anyone who can't decipher really thick Aussie accents, though.***_   
  



End file.
